Page 39 of Home for Christmas in July

“Cute.” I manage a vague smile, my mind still on the missing envelope.

“Right? We’re going to use them as personalized wine tags at the happy hour tomorrow, and then the guests can take them home and hang them up!” Thyme beams.

Sage narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“Your face is so white it’s almost see-through. And you’re sweating,” she informs me.

I swipe my hand across my forehead and my palm comes away wet. Eww.

I groan, “ I lost the new clue.”

They both gasp.

“But you’ve already read it. Right?” Thyme asks in a hopeful voice.

I stick out my lip and shake my head. “I told Nick we’d open it together after he gets his suit sorted out. So I put it right here under my coffee mug for safekeeping.”

“And it’s not there now?”

“Right. I left it there when I went to deal with that ear-splitting noise earlier.”

“Whatwasthat, anyway?” Sage wants to know.

“Several hundred magnetic tiles crashing to the ground. Some jerk knocked it down deliberately and thenpusheda little girl. After I got poor Sunny settled down and we cleaned up the mess, I scoured the entire library looking for the buttwipe who did it. But I couldn’t find him.”

“May his pillowcase always be warm and his coffee room temperature,” Thyme mutters darkly.

I raise a questioning eyebrow.

Sage explains, “It’s one of our mom’s favorite curses.”

“Brutal.”

“MJ doesn’t play.”

Thyme butts in. “How long were you away from the desk?”

“As long as you were, I guess.” I check my watch. “Almost half an hour. I just got back here. When I picked up my coffee mug, the envelope was gone.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t move it?” Sage asks.

“I didnotmove it,” I say firmly.

“Huh. Well, it must be here somewhere. We’ll help you look for it.”

They join me behind the circulation desk. We methodically search every inch of the space, each nook and individual cranny. In the end, Thyme finds it tucked into the tray ofmonthly calendars on display for visitors to grab after checking out their books. My relief is dampened by my conviction that I did not put it there. I. Did. Not. Put. It. There.

Judging by the looks I’m getting from the sisters, I said that part aloud.

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Maybe it fluttered off your desk, someone picked it up. and stuck it in the tray thinking they were being helpful,” Thyme theorizes.

I look around the circulation desk for this mysterious, helpful person, then I shrug.

“Maybe. I guess it doesn’t matter because it’s here now.”

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